3513 
1911 





VIE WS 



AND 

VISIONS 




Villiam Griffith 




Class "PS 3 5 ) 3 

Book >T?7 C-5 



Copyright N?.. 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



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VIEWS 



AND 

VISIONS 



By William Griffith 

it 






Sgf 



New York 

Moffat, Yard & Company 

1911 



Copyright, 191 1 

By 
William Griffith 



CI.A297285 



To 

My Wife 



ARGUMENT 

Critic. Someone has mentioned your attempt to modernize 
a form of dialogue once popular as a manner of dramatic ex- 
pression. Is the idea original? 

Author. Others since Virgil and Spenser have used the 
same vehicle successfully. 

Critic. It is something of a novelty? 

Author. Fairly so ; at least with respect to the American 
application. 

Critic. While you have used the form of verse, do you 
think rhyme in dialogue is natural? 

Author. It may be musical. 

Critic. One might say that you were trying to realise the 
poetry of new-world life? 

Author. Only in so far as others may realise the same 
thoughts and emotions. Brown personifies an immature mind 
overshadowed by fatalism. It is not an extraordinary obses- 
sion, though the character has many necessary limitations. 
Gray has something of the philosopher about him, and Green 
is simply a happy medium. They voice only vague murmurs 
and echoes that have come by intermittently : voices from in- 
visible verandahs : hints and aspirations and memories and 
emotions of pulses that beat and have probably beaten forever 
through the world. 



Critic. How odd — the names ! 

Author. I had thought them obvious. 

Critic. The fatalism you have spoken of is abstract, so far 
as you have gone. A play would seem more ample for the de- 
velopment of the idea. 

Author. Why attempt the impossible? 

Critic. Impossible? 

Author. Well, say — a readable play? 

Critic. Ah ! I understand. 

Author. Yes? 



CONTENTS 

Argument 4 

Spring ' 

Summer 23 

Autumn 37 

Winter 53 



SPRING 



Scene: New York. 
Time: The Present. 



SPRING 

Brown. Gray. Green. 

Brown at a table is reading a daily paper. Gray has just entered 
the room, and is seated near a window. A number of news- 
papers and periodicals cover the table. Above a confused mur- 
mur of voices from the outside echoes the commerce of the 
avenue. 

Brown. 

To-day, the same as yesterday, 
The sun goes toiling west. 

Gray. 

Another joyous roundelay 
Awakens nest by nest. 

Once more the green Aprilian woods 
Are brimming with the spring. 

Brown. 

And now the wilding mary-buds 
Are shyly opening. 

9 



Gray. 



But never bud nor bloom nor bird, 

Nor sylvan serenade, 
Have we on Broadway seen or heard 

Above the din of trade. 

By day and night the sounding town 

Is drumming a refrain 
Of riches and of rich renown, 

Of gayety and gain, 

Of human life becoming cheap, 
And means of living dear, 

Until — if one could only sleep 
Beyond a waking here ! 



Of course desires and pleasures are 
Enhanced by death. 



Brown. 

The stress 



Gray. 



Of living seems to grow. 



We mar 

Our health and happiness, 
In our own souls and bodies, by 
Imagining the worst 
Precedes the best. 



10 



Brown. 

Mere martvrs ! 



Gray. 

Why 

Be known among the first? 



Brown. 

Oblivion is failure still. 

Gray. 

Success is understood 

By only those who have the will 

To please the multitude. 

Brown. 

Success is something more and more 

Impossible to gauge, 
Amid the heavy iron roar 

And thunder of the age. 

My soul has no dynamic force, 

Nor energy divine, 
To follow any other course 

Than happens to be mine. 

And whatsoever may befall 

Is profitless and stale : 
My youth has been a prodigal 

At every bargain sale. 

11 



Gray. 



I hear the clamor of the town, 
As something that pursues 

A fugitive to drag him down, 
And put him in the news. 

Anon a trumpet warning peals 
And challenges the fears 

That rush and rally at my heels, 
And gather with the years. 

On my despairing gaze the sun 

Of Arcady and Ind 
Appears like innocence when one 

Defiantly has sinned. 



The imagery is as dim 
As innocence to me, 
Upon my word ! 

Brown. 

A passing whim, 
To jest at misery. 

Nor may you ever understand 
My ghost of haunting woe, 

When, like a trinket in my hand, 
The earth swing's far below. 



12 



Gray. 



As if by sorcery, the moon 

Arises from her bowers 
And slips her shawl — on lilies soon 

To strav among her flowers. 



Good — lack ! 



Brown. 

The heavy sable shade 

Is yonder backward drawn ; 

Behold her walking like a maid, 
Far on the starry lawn 

In blossom ! 



Gray. 



Dian is abroad 
Without a chaperone ! 



Brown. 

No, no! 



Gray. 



Betray and then defraud 
Yourself — and live alone : 

For you must answer, ill or well. 
For all vou do and see. 



18 



Brown, 

With eyes that dwell, as one in hell, 
On far felicity, 

I still review the simple ways 
Of happy, hallowed years. 

Of late the sun has led my days 
In very sordid spheres. 

By night a coil of avenues, 
Around a thousand eyes, 

Is writhing where the city views 
Inviolable skies 

Adorned and jeweled with the stars. 

Beneath them, waging stark 
Rebellion, many a toiler wars 

With hunger in the dark. 

Blaspheming and beyond the pale 
Are ghoulish shapes that greet, 

On every hand, the wan and frail 
Drab women of the street. 

By day the sore and feeble stray 
Amid the sights that breed 

In lanes and avenues — the prey 
Of every crouching need. 



14 



Once — once when, raving in his cell 

At some derisive nod, 
They said the convict prayed to hell, 

I almost doubted God ! 



Gray. 



Divinity has been denied 

By many a brooding mind ; 
And looking on the darkest side, 
Drives men and women blind. 

Though life and love are bought and sold, 

Remember that the trees 
Forever mantle as of old 

With green embroideries. 

Hearing the matins and the lauds 

Of heaven chime and ring, 
The sun still rises and applauds 

The jocund shout of spring. 

Brown. 

On Broadway, by a happy chance, 

My eyes have freshly seen 
The soul of April and Romance, 

Not far from Bowling Green. 

And something came down from the skies 

Distilling fresh delight, 
As though a rose in human guise 

Had blossomed on my sight. 



15 



Another once familiar face 

And presence suddenly 
Were summoned evermore to grace 

A fading memory. 

And like a song that has been sung, 

Or story that is told, 
My aching thoughts have been among 

The happy days of old. 

Singing heard without 

SONG 

They have asked me why the flowers. 

Lady mine, 
Cast a shadow on the hours, 

As they pine. 
Surely they know not the room 
In dream-chambers where the gloom 
May be sweetened by a bloom, 

Lady mine! 

If I plucked the stars for roses, 

Lady mine, 
And told all that day discloses, 

As the shine 
Of the sunlight strikes the shade 
Round the golden petals laid 
On your bosom, they would fade, 

Lady mine. 



16 



Gray 



But if I could run a brook, 

Lady mine, 
That with chatters through each nook 

Would entivine, 
In its ebb and surge and flow, 
All the roses, do you know 
What the breeze would whisper low, 

Lady minef 



Daphnis is hoarsely hindering 
The music of the spheres, 

Rehearsing something he can sing 
To Chloe. 



Brown. 

He appears. 



Enter Green still singing. 

A hi the falling years grow heavy, 

Lady mine. 
Though the blossoms in your bevy 

Still are fine, 
Do you know what Time will do 
To the roses plucked for you, 
When the sun has left no dew, 

Lady mine? 



17 



Gray. 

Aha ! with Cupid from the woods. 

The king-cups you have seen 
Approach and doff their little hoods 
Before the Fairy Queen. 

Brown. 

A gross anachronism ! Bow 
Them out of doors ! 



Green. 



I seem 
To see the fairies even now, 
As in a boyish dream : 

Away down in a wooded dell, 
Still trooping through the shade, 

Step by step to an elfin bell, 
A gorgeous cavalcade. 

Anon the warriors gather round 

With leafy lances bent; 
The beetle, with his bugle wound, 

Proclaims the tournament. 

And dimly, as the airy sprites 
Upraise a muffled cheer, 

The firefly in the grasses lights 
His swinging chandelier. 



18 



Gray. 

Since when have you returned 

From where the twilight veils 
Arcadia ? 

Brown. 

And only learned 
To label fairy tales 



Green. 



Of revelry? 



A starry fay, 
With heaven listening 
Out on the hills, taught me to-day 
A song the thrushes sing. 

Something bids the Forest hush 
Little pinions softly whir; 

Hardly in the underbrush 
Does a leaf or shadow stir. 

Is it playing just in fun 

Or in tears the Forest grieves, 

Ere the happy morning sun 
Glances in among the leaves? 

O to hear a happy voice, 
Just the angel of the rain 

Bidding earth and sky rejoice? 
Sing on — sing that song again! 



19 



Gray. 

What? 

Brown. 



Green. 



On the hills? 



Yes; let me think. 



Gray. 

Oh, never think to pin 
The angels down ! But up and drink 
A health to spring! 



Brown, 

Begin. 



Gray. 



Of seasons there are many more, 

But in the race we run, 
Does anybody win before 

The setting of the sun? 
A stout heart is the merry heart 

Upon a fading trail ; 
So ho ! here in the busy mart, 

I sing the humming ale. 



20 



Chorus. 

We sing the humming ale, good friend ! 

But here's a health to you, 
With one more when the race shall end, 

To show the prize we drew. 
Heigh-ho ! the bowl, from brim to brim, 

Lies full. Fill a cup. 
While now the rosy apples swim, 

All hail! Drink it up. 



Green. 



The siren city offers some 

Felicity, but oh ! 
Once more at leisure let me roam 

Where summer breezes blow ! 
Once more the sturdy roving foot ; 

Then with an ample load 
Of gay hopes and an easy boot, 

I sing the open road. 

Chorus. 

We sing the open road, good friend ! 

But here's a health to you, 
With one more to the nappy blend 

Of Saxon in the brew. 
Heigh-ho! the bowl, from brim to brim, 

Lies full. Fill a cup. 
While now the rosy apples swim. 

All hail ! Drink it up. 



21 



Brown. 

The clamor of the town may sleep 

A thousand years, and still 
Dreams in a thousand hearts shall leap 

Under the urging will. 
The north may blight the winds that bless ; 

The gypsy child may rove ; 
But still, for hope and happiness, 

I sing the song of love. 

Chorus. 

We sing the song of love, good friend ! 

But here's a health to you, 
With one more to the hopes that send 

The parting moments through. 
Heigh-ho ! the bowl, from brim to brim. 

Lies full. Fill a cup. 
While now the rosy apples swim, 

All hail ! Drink it up. 



22 



SUMMER 



SUMMER 

Persons — The Same 

The room is lighted by hanging lamps in the center. A mazer bowl 
is on the table. The moon shines through an eastern window. 

Green. 

A clear soprano, filled with sun, 
The wood-thrush weaves his wedding song. 

Gray. 

Once more blithe summer voices throng. 

Green. 

Once more the gossip waters run. 

Gray. 

Marsh-marigolds, bright flowers of hope, 

Are twinkling over fens and lakes. 

Green. 

Upon a thousand gardens breaks 
A thunder-shower of heliotrope. 

Gray. 

And daisy-blossoms fringe the lanes. 



25 



Green. 



Gray. 



Green. 



Gray. 



And where the drowsy primrose dreams 
The livelong day, the woodland streams 
Are brimming with the summer rains. 



The robin beats his golden gong 
With rapture, leading many a band 
Of woodland minstrels. 



Down the land, 
Come merle and mavis borne along. 



They say a bird on every tree 
Is busy with a song. 



Brown. 

They say 
A million human voices pray 
Upon a second Calvary. 

A distant sound of weary feet 
Arises dimly to my ears, 
As though a fountain-head of tears 

Were playing yonder in the street. 



Green. 



The owl molests the solemn chime 
In many a belfry far away. 



26 



Brown. 

A flash of faces, wan and gray 
With hunger, haunts our happy time. 

Green. 

While happy alto voices ring. 

Brown. 

All day the restless millions rush. 

Green. 

About this hour a conscious hush 
Is shattered where the linnets sing. 

Gray. 

A conscious hush? 

Green. 

As real and dear 
As loves and happy lovers are, 
Unseen companions are as far 
Removed as heaven and as near. 

Brown. 

So far may fancy, rather, stray. 

Green. 

No, no ! 

Brown. 

Then, comrade, let us see 
Another summer memory, 
With meadows waving far away. 



27 



Gray. 

Turn down the lamps ! 



Green. 

Wait! 



Brown. 

Turn them out 
Completely ! 

Green. 

You may fail to see. 

Gray. 

Dive deep. We promise secrecy. 

Brown. 

Begin while silence soothes the doubt. 



Green. 

Softly the wandering breezes pass 
And whisper something through the years, 
Disclosing all the green frontiers, 

As in a magic looking-glass. 

Afar the blue horizon fills 

And mantles with a rosy foam : 

And now the herds are winding home, 

As evening gathers on the hills. 



28 



A distant ridge :. with shaded eyes, 
I stand and gaze : and over all 
The hills and dales a human call 

Arises clear and dwells and dies: 

Arises with an echo so 

Melodious and thin and lone, 

The thrushes launch a trembling tom j 

On waves of music sobbing low. 

And over hill and over dale, 
As darkness settles on the land, 
Softly the moon, with cloudy hand, 

Puts on her lace and silver veil. 

Then dying, dying out again, 

The sobbing billows faintly break 
On phantom shores : the zephyrs shake, 

And darkness overruns the plain. 

Brown. 

An overworn and faded theme. 

Green. 

I hear the quails and thrushes sing, 

In coveys blithely twittering. 

Brown. 

I hear the demon whistles scream 

A hoarse reminder. 
29 



Gray. 

O to see 
A blue-bird singing in the street ! 

Green. 

Extremes, wide-circling, often meet ; 
And discord strengthens harmony. 

So never mope nor ever dwell 

On direful woes and ancient wrongs, 
As maddening as the maddest songs 

Of cap and bell. 

Brown. 

Beneath the spell 

Of ambushed meanings that dismay 
My wondering soul, above me leer 
Devouring eyes — as those of fear. 



Gray. 



Green. 



Unleash the dogs and come away ! 

A danger, wooed in wilfulness, 
Caps vanity. 



Which, capped, avoid. 
Decisive moments, unemployed, 
Are swift forerunners of distress. 



30 



Brown. 

Who can avoid the human pang 

That stabs a spirit at the Throne, 
When many hear the doom of one 



Green. 



Gray. 



Who dreamt his foolish dreams and sang? 



Or wise or foolish, let us cross 
No bridges ere we come to them. 



For evermore the rarest gem 
Is hidden where the tempests toss. 

So now, another round of ale, 
And someone sound a sylvan note. 



Green. 



As once in outland ways remote 
Was heard the whistle of the quail 

Across the lonely miles and far 

Away where earth and heaven meet 
On hallowed ground, in dear and sweet 

Communion with the evening star. 

Brown. 

There are no longer any dews 
In mist or rain, nor any bell 
To toll me nearer home and quell 

The thunder of the avenues. 



31 



Green, 

Away from city and from town 
New hopes may blossom and unfold. 

Brown. 

Aspire and dream and feel the old 
Enthusiasm dying down! 



Green. 



Gray. 



Green. 



If duty has been reckoned least, 
A song is nobler never sung. 



Of course — and rosaries are strung 
For penitents as well as priest. 



Well said ! 



Brown. 

Albeit feeble speech 

May touch the story clumsily, 
Some haunting Presence follows me, 
Prodigious in its subtle reach. 

I gaze from heaven, from the gate, 
Adown our vasty starlit hall, 
Wherein the nations rise and fall 

Like shadows, at the whim of fate. 



32 



A moment near, a moment gone, 
And sounding on the iron skies, 
A Voice of thunder dwells and dies 

And still the world moves on and on. 

Crowding the distant starry road, 
With banners fading one by one, 
The review passes and — alone, 

I dream the solitude of God. 

Green. 

Unreal reality. 



Gray. 



Green. 

Gray. 

Green. 

Gray. 

Green. 



Ah — \es! 
The paradox may have a phase 
Of truth ; but come, a health — to raise 
This siege of growing moodiness ! 

A health around ! 

One more — and then. 
Good-night. 

You leave? 

My holiday. 

And whither? 

33 



Gray. 

England. 
Green. 

What? Hooray 

For Merrie England once again ! 

Gray. 

For all the English flags unfurled 

Beneath the sun ! 

Brown. 

And why not our 

Republic mighty with the power 
To mold the future of the world 

With hands as strong and sure as faW 
The emblem of the flag we fly 
Is peace, to station manhood high, 

Or war, to make a nation great. 



Gray. 



Green. 



Gray. 



The world is watching, from afar, 
An empire, born of its distress. 
Awakening to consciousness. 

The glory of our rising star 
Shall never wane. 

The sword and pen 
We wield as when our fathers saw 
The dawn of universal law, 
In England among Englishmen. 

34 



Brown. 

. I think of Ireland held in thrall. 

Gray. 

I think that I have somewhere heard 
Of freedom as an Irish word, 
Revered among us most of all. 

Green. 

For Law and Freedom ! 



Brown. 



Why not, pray, 
America — and with a cheer? 



Green. 



Brown. 



Hurrah — stand up 



Gray. 



And let us hear 
From some one with a wassail. 



Stay ! 

We have heard the toast to a people 
Who inherit the English tongue ; 

By the men of the far horizons 
Their praises have been sung — 



35 



Sung by the warder kinsmen 
Who stand for a common cause, 

When the vandal cannon thunder 
Against the iron laws. 

They talk of the King and the Kaiser 

War-bent on the thin frontier ; 
Under the ocean passes 

A rumor — is it fear? 
While the great gray seas are chanting 

Songs under the golden sun, 
Shall prophets thrive who advertise 

The end of the world begun? 

O waste on the west no wassail ! 

On the east nor the south nor north ! 
For to-night, as the starry cohorts 

Break ranks and sally forth, 
Shine the lights of a beacon empire 

On either side of the sea ; 
Drink — drink that the sun shall ever 

Be shining on the free ! 

And peace to the cobwebbed cannon ! 

In peace, as brothers may, 
While the ships of a whiter squadron 

Ride on to a brighter day, 
A health to the Unknown Father! 

To the Universal Plan! 
And the Law of a kindred children, 
From the Straits to Hindostan ! 



36 



AUTUMN 



AUTUMN 

Persons — The Same 

All entering. 

Brown. 

Four months? 

Gray. 

To-day. 

Brown. 

And you are back 

From overseas to recommend 

The treadmill and the beaten track, 

That lead to nothing in the end? 

Where men, who want for daily bread, 
Must follow as the phantom leads, 

And wear, rebelliously, instead 
Of coronals, a flow of beads? 

39 



Foregoing everything, to think 
Of wandering across the sea, 

With time enough to breathe, and drink 
The nectar of such luxury ! 



Gray. 



But- 



Brown. 

Though Content can house the sun 
When Joy sits by the ingle-hearth, 
There is no joy for any one 

Denied the freedom of the earth. 

And I am bonded as a slave, 

Beyond the help of hollow words. 



Green. 



Indeed? 



Brown. 

Because I dared not brave 
Dismissal and go where the birds, 

Across the dreamy golden hours, 

Through sunny afternoons took flight, 

And, singing, wakened in the flowers 
The pulses of a new delight. 



40 



Gray. 



Necessity has made me fear 
The pinch of poverty and need, 

And drudge and duel daily here, 

With thoughts of other mouths to feed, 

Touching the spirit of it all 

Are still the hornets of distress, 

As now and then I half recall 
Some old forgotten happiness. 



I have a poem that may serve 
To lift and take you out of town. 



Green. 

A poet — you? 

Gray. 

It does take nerve 

To read one. 

Green. 

Then you read it, Brown. 

Brown (reading). 

WANDERLUST 
God, with a dawning gaze, 

Kindles the sun, 
Forging the iron days 

One after one: 



41 



Shapes and designs the trees, 

And now and then, 
Fanning the furnaces, 

Labors on men; 

Smiting and hammering 

This from an ape, 
That from a stammering 

Primeval shape; 

Giving them each the vast 

Reach of the sky, 
Since the dark ages passed 

Tardily by. 

Showing the way to choose 

Rest and reward 
From the green revenues 

Next to the sward; 

Urging and beckoning 

City and town 
Foi-th for a reckoning 

Now and anon 

Over the open trail, 
Clean from the din; 

Sun — stars — a friendly hail, 
And the wayside inn. 

42 



Green. 

Harken the heavy iron clang, 

Such as the world was built upon ! 

Brown. 

O for the times when Homer sang 
The holy candor of the dawn ! 

Gray. 

Why brood and browse on Once and 1 Hen. 

When Here and Now are full of hope. 
And women bravely tread with men 
The upward and the downward slope? 

Green. 

Or whether in or whether out, 

When Fortune happens down the way. 
Be thankful for the call. 



Gray. 

Brown. 

Green. 

Gray. 



And shout 
With us who hail the coming day. 

A far cry ! 

No! 

Whom have yon met 
To introduce so much of gloom? 
In happiness one must forget. 

43 



Brown. 

My spring, that left, forgot to bloom. 

And happiness, though erstwhile sweet, 
Was but as poppies ere they swoon, 

With faces shyly raised to meet 
A fatal kiss — the kiss of noon. 

For days grow long, and one grows tired 
Of shaping ways and means to fit ; 

You may not know that I am hired — 
The latest auctioneer of wit. 

With all the harvest of a youth 
Misspent, I now am left by art 

With needless songs, to bear — forsooth ! 
The burden of a wasted heart. 

Tf euthanasia were — 

Green. 

No, no! 

We carry burdens of our own. 

As Jacob did when long ago, 
His harder pillow was a stone. 

The moral is as broad to-day 
As it is long — and new and true 

As is our greatly simple lay 

That trumpets the Red, White and Blue- 



44 



Gray. 



I heard it in a London mart ; 

Berlin ; St. Petersburg ; amid 
The Paris coil : and in the heart 

Of Venice and of old Madrid, 

I heard men marvel as they praised 
The mighty Mother who, at last, 

Had borne and mightily upraised 
A people who could shame the past. 



Green. 



Begin again! 



Brown. 

An epic role, 

When all around us is the din 

Of armament. 



Gray. 



Brown. 



A mazer bowl, 
And we are all immortal ! 



In 



The breath of war. it docs suffice 
To say that laureates — alack ! 

Are but as foolish little flies 

Blown in a dusty window-crack. 



45 



Green. 



So, out with cares and let us hear 

How Green has found the countryside ; 

And how the golden fields appear, 
With portaled harvests opened wide. 



Occultly through a riven cloud, 
The ancient river shines again, 

Still wandering like a silver road 
Among the cities in the plain. 

On far horizons softly lean 

The hills against the coming night ; 
And mantled with a russet green, 

The orchards gather into sight. 

Through apples hanging high and low, 
In ruddy colors deeply spread 

From core to rind, the sun melts slow, 
With gold upcaught across the red. 

And here and there, with sighs and calls, 
Among the hills an echo rings 

Remotely as the water falls 

And down the meadow softly sings. 

A wind goes by ; the air is stirred 
With secret whispers far and near ; 

Another token — just a word 

Had made the rose's meaning clear. 



46 



I see the fields ; I catch the scent 
Of odors from the fresh split wood, 

Where bearded moss and stains are blent 
With autumn rains, and all is good. 

An air arising turns and lifts 

The fallen leaves where they had lain 

Beneath the trees, then weakly shifts 
And slowly settles back again. 

While with far shouts, now homeward bound, 
Across the fields the reapers go; 

And, with the darkness closing round, 
The lilies of the twilight blow. 



Brown. 

Cease, cease ! 



Gray. 



Green. 



Around us rings and roars 
The rush of traffic. 



Over trees, 
On wood and orchard nature pours 
A wave of autumn witcheries. 

Brown. 

Around us rolls the roar and rush 
On every side, on every hand. 



47 



Green. 

Beyond us dawns a crimson flush 
Of glory on the autumn land. 

Brown. 

A captive spirit is but one 

Imploring something beautiful. 

Gray. 

Lanier and Whitman saw the sun 
As something other than the dull 

Had yet imagined. 

Brown. 

Artists crave 

The hidden soul in everything. 

Green. 

I hear the merle and mavis rave, 
With mellow voices twittering 

So sweetly ! 

Brown. 

Art is but a mood 

Deluding those who are but wise 
Enough to crave a mental food 

Mixed half with truth and half with lies. 

Green. 

With lies? 



48 



Gray. 



Green. 



Gray. 



No, no ! Men meet and part 
In droves and flocks : but it is rlee'ce 
Half clothes the world : and, as for art, 
The city is a masterpiece. 



And I oft think it is but meet 
That beauty never grows so fair 

But that men. searching in the street, 
May find it there, may find it there. 

So, fill again, and let us hear 

Of England and her ancient halls : 

In the gray empires bring us near 
The age-old, warrior-guarded walls. 

When victor over vanquished stood, 
And men thought chivalry to be 

A pilgrimage in manlihood. 
Before the shrine of courtesy. 



So long ago they went their way 
That but their shadows now remain, 

Beyond such things as be to-day, 
With chivalry upon the wane. 



49 



Europe is still across a blue, 

Interminable barricade, 
And gazes frowning on the new 

Frontier and order we have made. 

Yet, as when in that Minster aisle 
Amid the tombs, at times I see 

A stately vision slowly file 

From the old realms of pageantry; 

When he, the lion-hearted king, 

Was royally a troubadour, 
And he, of fame still echoing, 

Belied his youth at Azincour ; 

Or when those simple warrior lords. 
Within the Temple Garden gate. 

Stood and on high, with fiery words, 
Raised the red rose and wrecked a State. 

But wars are only on the chart 

As guiding periods for those 
Who storm the head or rule the heart. 

Above rash feuds of broiling foes. 

And Shakespeare, as he lives to-day, 
Is still the maestro who shall sing 

Such songs as only singers may 
When joy-bells of a nation ring. 



50 



Brown. 

His iron crown permits him reign 
A prince among the men of rhyme ; 

A man bid by the fates remain 
Forever at the heart of time. 



Gray. 



Green. 



Gray. 



With Bess and Henry? 



Prince or peer. 
His sway is over all romance, 
From Rome to Arden Wood. 



I fear 
No eulogies are left for France. 

Nor for the Man of Destiny 

Who, in his hour of triumph — lo ! 

With unawed will was soon to see 
The ruined dream at Fontainebleau. 

So let us only mourn the night. 
Wherein the heavens once again. 

With Europe watching, leap to light 
Above the star — the star of Spain. 



51 



Green. 

We will not mourn — we will not end, 

While hope and love continue great. 
The west is strong. 

Brown. 

The west will lend 

Her strength to aid a crippled State. 

Cuba, that staggers in the dark, 
Hastens the dawn and bids us see 

Clearly the way ahead and mark 
The milestones of eternity. 

Gray. 

Then ho for this young land of ours ! 

Brown. 

This child of nations brave to do ! 

Green. 

Hurrah ! we bring her native flowers. 

Gray. 

We bring her amaranth and rue. 



52 



WINTER 



WINTER 

Persons — The Same 

Logs blazing in the hearth. 

Gray. 

A merry blaze brings in the year. 

Green. 

The world is blithe and warm 
In many a home where none may hear 
The slander of the storm. 

Gray. 

And comfortable cronies know 

That right as well as wrong 
Is swaying empires to and fro, 

And driving them along. 

Grav years and tears are but as one 

Wan dew-drop in a cup, 
Just brimming over ere the sun 

Forever dries it up. 

55 



Despair and strength we have in kind, 
The sunshine and the showers, 

Wayfaring with this giant, blind, 
Old staggering world of ours. 

So come — bring in the ruddy ale 

A-frothing, to be sure. 
Desire and happiness prevail 

That men may but endure. 

Once more — a health ! 



Brown. 

Your mood is light 
But light and lighter still 
Must be the hearts of those to-night 
Who would evade the chill. 

For yonder crouching in his lair, 
Now shrewdly shifting — hark ! 

How clean the claws of winter tear 
The marrow of the dark ! 

Ah ! comrades, do you know how wild 

And piercing, incomplete, 
Is silence when a little child 

Begs vainly in the street? 



56 



Green. 



I see the idle workman roam, 

Starving and miserable, 
Without a friend — presaging some 

Wan acolyte of hell. 

By many a hearth, in sore distress, 
The mother, hollow-eyed, 

Is hiding from a childish guess 
Her deep, heart-broken pride. 

I hear the Christian curse his birth, 
And strong men crying out 

Against the heavens and the earth, 
In blasphemy and doubt. 

I see despair traced on the wall 
Where none knew what it meant, 

In companies ignoring all 
The smothered discontent. 

Again they meet. Lo, lo — the tread 

Of lawless bands ! I see, 
Upon a thousand faces spread, 

The scowl of anarchy. 



Enough — nor dwell on hapless things 

So blighting to our cheer! 
For low and loud the birch-log sings 

A welcome to the year. 



57 



And while we watch the dancing elves, 

Just turn another page, 
And recollect that we ourselves 

Live in a golden age. 

O mark you how the flame-flowers soothe 

The old year into glee, 
With yon logs crooning low to smooth 

Your frowns of anarchy ! 

Brown. 

Mv anarch frowns? 



Green. 

Yes. 



Brown. 

Sure you know 

They shadow darkened moods. 
I know not why ; but, ah ! the glow 
Of flame-flowers scents the woods ! 



Gray. 



A nibble ! Watch him ! To insist 

Upon a glowing scent, 
Is marking you an anarchist. 

Or else a decadent. 



58 



Brown. 

The cavilers may safely cry 

A hackneyed phrase at large 
In literature — 



Gray. 



Perpol 



Brown. 

And fly 

No reasons with the charge. 

Gray. 

Proceed and tell us how you write 
Between a hope and fear ; 

And how the learned critics slight 
A modern sonneteer. 

Brown. 

The tale is less than many think 
Who christen it divine. 

With no emotions taught to drink 
Remembrance as of wine. 

My days are spent pursuing art. 

With nature as a guide, 
Amid the lilies of the heart. 

Through fibres pushed aside. 



59 



Green. 



Wherefore I cull me here a rose, 

With lilies in between ; 
And reap but where Another sows, 

To sow where others glean. 

While plucking blossoms now and then 

For love alone, I know, 
Alas ! nor how nor even when 

Another one will grow. 

And so beneath the weight of time, 
My heart, with making sure 

Of caging songs within a rhyme, 
Wists them evade the lure 



Forevermore. 



No more of moods ! 
But pipes and glasses bring! 
For all about us now the woods 
Are carpeted with spring. 

Like fugitives from fairyland, 
With dewy gems impearled, 

The flowers begin to understand 
And range the forest world. 



60 



1 see the sleepy roses peer 
Around the passing herds, 

Awakening as if to hear 
Some carol of the birds. 

While back and forth the king-cups skip 
About the blossom-queen ; 

All watching now the crocus trip 
A measure down the green. 

Brown. 

Already drifting is the snow 

On roof and square and street. 
With muted echoes from the slow, 
Sad tramp of weary feet. 

Thev come and 2fo who feel the stern 

Necessities that prop 
Their failing strength — and only learn 

The hopelessness of hope. 



Green. 



Gray. 



Hark ! midnight slowly tolls. 



Time leaps 
The hurdled universe 
Once over. 



61 



Brown. 



Green. 



While the city sleeps 
Securely on its purse 

Of luxury. 

No more, for lo ! 
I only see the woods, 
As down the year, beyond the snow, 
A rosy orchard buds ; 

Wherein, by many a spreading tree, 

Descending far away, 
In clean forgetfulness I see 

The little children play. 

And vocalized the air now shakes 

As, after waiting long 
Beside her nest, the mother breaks 

Into a world of song. 

Till gathering from far and near, 
The wondrous lyrics ring, 

And daffodils arouse to hear 
The leaping laugh of spring. 

Already over tower and town, 
With night and darkness gone, 

Around the lily stars are blown 
The roses of the dawn. 



62 



Gray. 

Hurrah ! 

Green. 

Aurora bravely pins 

On high a starry page. 

Gray. 

Hurrah ! 

Brown. 

The dawn? 

Green. 

Whereof begins 

Another golden age. 

Brown. 

sorry jest — and one that rings 
With mockeries of art ! 

Gray. 

It is no jest ; for joy still sings 
Deep in the common heart. 

Brown. 

1 fear the songs know much distress. 

Gray. 

Above the darkest night, 

The stars still shine. 

Brown. 

For happiness? 



63 



Gray. 

Immortal souls shall light 

On earth forever and for aye 

With their magnificat, 
While lad and lass together stray. 

Green. 

The heavens echo that : 

For it is love makes life divine. 

Gray. 

A million systems move, 
With crowding suns and moons that shine 
Beneath the rule of love. 

Brown. 

The world begins to tire. 

Gray. 

The great 
World, staggering and hurled 
From God, is master of its fate. 

Green. 

The world! 

Brown. 

Alas! 

Gray. 

The world! 



91! 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



OCT s i9i| 



015 905 666 1 M 



